


We'll Give the World to You

by ReginaCordium



Series: Don't Be Shocked When Your Hist'ry Book Mentions Me [6]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: ...can I get away with tagging bisexual Hamilton as a canon queer character?, Canon Queer Character, Gen, Implied Lams because I'm Weak, Queer Character of Color, references to Sleepy Hollow's supernatural bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaCordium/pseuds/ReginaCordium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In fact, I work for Mr. Chernow.”</p><p>Jessica’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” she breathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Give the World to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollimichele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollimichele/gifts), [Gement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/gifts), [atheilen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Best of Wives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599507) by [Gement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/pseuds/Gement). 



> I was told the sandbox was open to everyone, and I simply could not help myself. **1/9 edit: See the end notes for info about the edits**
> 
> I feel I must also explain my thought process a bit?  
> 1) As a queer woman who loves history, reading about (potentially, since for the most part we'll never really know for sure) queer historical figures was so important to me growing up. It helped me grow a lot more comfortable in my skin, and now it's helped others. Other works in the series have established that Alexander realizes the difference in sexualities, and I wanted to explore that a little more  
> 2) I honestly just wanted to see how Alexander would possibly deal with someone as young as Jessica. The other works focus on his interactions with peers, but Hamilton is a huge hit with such a young generation as well and I wanted to see how that'd work  
> 3) Weird shit happens in Sleepy Hollow all the time, and I wanted to see how (relatively) regular people reacted to it  
> 4) Referenced Lams because I am the Worst™

Alexander had, in his own avowedly humble opinion, adapted to the 21st century remarkably well. He spent his too-copious free time catching up on politics (“Please tell me Donald Trump is a joke. Please.”), history (“Burr did _what_?”), and popular culture (“But if all of it is scripted, then why is it called reality television?”)

What he still had trouble grasping, however, was the nature of modern journalism.

“This newspaper cost _a dollar fifty?_ ” he demanded, shaking the offending paper. It wasn’t the price itself, mind. Two centuries’ worth of monetary inflation had altered the value of American currency significantly; he understood that perfectly well.

No, it was the content, not the cover price. “This is not worth the paper it's printed on. They should be paying _me_ for the time spent reading it, with a surcharge as compensation for every instance of bald-faced untruth and dire exaggeration.” And, fair market value aside, he could not help but feel he was due a gratis copy, as the paper’s founder.

“And the political coverage! Tawdry hearsay with no real depth. None of this counts as actual journalism!”

Alexander stood with Crane and Miss Mills in line at one of the local Starbucks coffee-houses (though Alexander was still shocked by the sheer _number_ of them in one town); they were not the only ones to duck in seeking escape from the chill. Indeed, the line before them was much longer than any of them had anticipated. Everyone was now also staring at him, since apparently raging about the sad state of modern journalism was not commonplace. Perhaps that was why it had been allowed to fall so far.

“Welcome to 2015,” Miss Mills told him, lips curled in amusement. Crane, beside her, offered Alexander a sympathetic smile.

“I still do not believe it myself,” he confided. “All this technology, and it is still nigh-impossible to find a consistently trustworthy news source.”

This remark occasioned a spirited debate between Crane and Miss Mills on the modern ubiquity of various forms of technological surveillance, distracting them from Alexander’s complaints.

Thus ignored, Alexander tucked the paper under his arm and huffed, “Who could have allowed such an outrageous example of low journalistic standards to call itself a newspaper?”

“Alexander Hamilton,” said a voice to his left.

Alexander began to turn automatically at the sound of his own name, and froze for a moment as he caught himself. Eyes wide, he turned further, to look for the source of the voice. He espied a young woman, curled in one of the overstuffed armchairs, watching him intently. She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen ( _The same age as your James, last you saw him,_ a tiny voice in his mind supplied. He studiously ignored both it, and the pang in his chest it brought), with light brown skin and dark curly hair tucked under a gray knit cap. When he failed to respond, her brown eyes looked him up and down, and she smiled.

“He founded the New York Post,” she explained. “So, technically, it’s his fault. Though he’d probably roll in his grave if he knew the state it was in now.”

Alexander laughed nervously, but was thankfully saved by Crane’s interruption, exclaiming “Miss Jessica!” with apparent delight.

The girl – Jessica, apparently – turned her attention from Alexander, and aimed her smile at Alexander’s companions, now drawn back from their own debate.

“Mr. Crane!” she said cheerfully. “Abbie! Hey, how are you guys?”

“Quite well, Miss Jessica,” Crane answered, with a small bow.

“Jessie, this is Alex Fawcett,” Miss Mills said, placing a hand on Alexander’s arm. “He’s a friend of ours.”

“Jessica Lozano," the girl said, rising to offer him her hand.

“A very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Jessica, I’m sure,” Alexander said, shaking her hand.

“Oh, so you’re like Mr. Crane, then?” she asked. “All old-fashioned manners and everything?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Alexander said. Crane had a variety of complaints on the subject-- the death of common courtesy, the vulgarity of modern manners, et cetera. He found the directness refreshing, himself.

“So how’ve you been? How’s school going? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the middle of your sophomore year,” Miss Mills said.

Jessica scrunched up her nose in distaste. “It’s still boring,” she huffed. “Oh, wait, did I tell you when we got the AP scores in?”

“No!” Miss Mills said, clearly intrigued. “You took European history, right?”

“Yeah! Got a five!”

“Is that good?” Alexander asked, confused. A score of five sounded quite low, but perhaps they used a smaller grading scale. He also had no idea what an AP score actually _was_ ; he filed it away to look up later, with a thousand other things.

Jessica turned her attention back to him, looking a little surprised, as if she’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Yeah, it’s the best score.” She turned back to Miss Mills to add, “I’m taking US history this year and it’s _awesome_. Only class worth going to, honestly.”

“Jessica,” Miss Mills sighed, and the young lady rolled her eyes, an expression seemingly universal to young people throughout the whole of history. This was an argument they’d had before, Alexander saw.

“So you do, at least, like history?” he asked, hoping to avoid argument with such a new acquaintance.

“Love it,” Jessica confirmed, smile returning. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“Miss Jessica is quite the scholar of history,” Crane added.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call myself a _scholar_ ,” she argued, but her cheeks flushed nonetheless. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Alexander hummed affirmatively in response, not wishing to provoke mention of the parts of history he himself was present for. “How did you all meet?” he asked instead, curiosity getting the better of him. “This seems an unlikely little friendship.”

Jessica turned sheepish as she shared a look with Miss Mills, who raised an eyebrow in return.

“I’m what my aunt likes to call a ‘problem child,’” Jessica explained, stuffing her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunching. “I used to get into fights a lot, and I’d get pulled into the station. Abbie was the first cop who saw me as an actual person instead of just some punk. I dunno, we just kinda clicked. We get lunch sometimes.”

“The lieutenant introduced us during one of such lunches,” Crane added. “We connected over our mutual interest in history.”

Crane flashed Alexander a grin, which he could not help but return. _Mutual interest_ , indeed. Alexander could not help but be incredibly thankful for Crane, infuriating as he may have been at times; he alone knew what Alexander had survived; he alone had navigated the path on which Alexander found himself, trying to understand a world that no longer made sense.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jessica’s brows furrow in the beginnings of a frown. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by one of the shop’s clerks calling out “Next!”

Their little group turned as one towards the front of the shop; during their conversation, the line before them had disappeared.

“Your order takes precedence, Miss Jessica,” Alexander told her, bowing and gesturing her forward. “I insist.” He caught on Miss Mills’ face the expression it bore whenever he or Crane said or did something she considered excessively “old-fashioned.” Modern directness was all very well, but proper manners never went out of fashion.

Jessica smiled in thanks before stepping forwards, requesting something called a “venti halfcaf cinnamon roll mocha frappuccino--” Alexander understood exactly half of those words -- “and a blueberry muffin.”

“A cold drink in the depth of winter?” Crane teased. “Are you certain you won’t freeze?”

“Fight me, Crane,” Jessica retorted, stepping aside to let Miss Mills order. “I will not let something like the _weather_ stop me from rotting my teeth out.”

Alexander frowned at her. “Did you just challenge Mr. Crane to a duel?” he asked. “I cannot help but advise you to think otherwise."

Jessica laughed, face scrunching up again. “No, no. Don’t worry. It’s just, like, slang.”

“Typically,” Miss Mills added, ushering them to the end of the counter to wait for their orders, “when Jessica says 'fight me,' she usually means _she’s_ gonna fight _you_.”

“Hey! I haven’t been in any fights recently. I’ve mellowed.”

Miss Mills snorted in mock disbelief, and Jessica playfully shoved her shoulder.

“Your birthday just passed, didn’t it? Get any cool books?” Miss Mills asked after a moment, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah! My aunt and uncle got me ones on Teddy Roosevelt and the Stonewall riots. Ooh, and Lily found one on John Laurens I haven’t read yet!”

“John Laurens?” Alexander asked, very proud of how steady his voice was, though for a brief moment he felt like he’d been shot all over again. His breath left him in a rush at the sound of that name, and he felt as if his heart were clenched in a vice. Even with all the recent modern focus on his own biography, it had been a very long while since Laurens’ name had come up in casual conversation. It was surprising, the effect the name had on him after so much time.

“Yeah,” Jessica said, turning as her name was called to claim her coffee; she then gave her explanation between sips. “He was one of General Washington’s aides-de-camp during the Revolution. There’s so much written about people like Washington and Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette, but there’s hardly anything written about Laurens. Every time I see a new one, I immediately buy it.”

Miss Mills placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder, startling him. When he turned to look at her, she raised an eyebrow in a silent question. He nodded -- clearly, his reaction had been excessive to modern eyes -- but she didn’t drop her hand. Then Crane stepped forward to collect their drinks, providing a welcome distraction, and the four of them turned away from the counter together. Jessica began to gather up the belongings she had left at her table.

“Where are you going, from here?” Crane asked Jessica. “We shall walk with you, if you like.”

“Will we now?” Miss Mills asked, but there was warmth in her voice as she fell into step next to her partner. They emerged from the coffee-house, and his gracious hosts took up a position behind Jessica and Alexander, the sidewalk being too narrow for them to all walk together.

“Oh, I was just gonna walk to the library,” Jessica told them with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

Alexander frowned at her. “I have been under the impression that foodstuffs and beverages were not allowed in libraries,” he said, eyeing her drink. So far, he’d found himself quite liking the young Miss Jessica, but he felt wary of her plan to sneak food into the self-same library where he spent much of his time.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Fawcett. The librarians know me really well. They know I wouldn’t dare ruin the books,” Jessica informed him, before taking a quick sip of her drink. Alexander did the same, reveling in the warmth that spread through him in the chill air. Winter had settled late in Sleepy Hollow this year, bringing with it the first snowfall of the season. As much as the long wait pained him, the coffee had been an excellent idea.

“How much time do you spend in the library?” he asked, curious. He had spent as much time as he could in the local library of late, catching up on missed history, and had noticed most of its patrons tended to be either adults or, in the last week or so, university students with an air of desperation, studying for their exams.

“Tons,” Jessica told him as they turned the corner. “I’m pretty sure I’ve checked out close to every biography and history book they’ve got.”

Alexander whistled, impressed and pleased to meet a fellow autodidact. “What era do you most enjoy, then?”

“The Revolution,” she responded without hesitation, “for sure.”

Alexander couldn’t help but grin. “Is that so?”

“Tell him who your favorite historical figure is,” Miss Mills said from behind them, gently prodding the young woman’s shoulder.

“Alexander Hamilton!” Jessica sang out, throwing her head back. Alexander once again felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, but for an entirely different reason.

“Oh?” he managed to reply.

“Yeah! God, you should’ve seen me when I heard about the musical. My friends had to ban me from talking about it. Or anything about the Revolution. Or Hamilton in general, I suppose. Oh! Or about Lin-Manuel Miranda. Spoilsports.”

Alexander couldn’t help but preen a little, hearing that. He remembered, long ago, being a young man fretting about his legacy, about the mark he would leave on his country. He never could have imagined he would be thrust so strongly back into the public eye, 211 years after his death. And due to _musical theater,_ of all things.

(Though it was certainly a very _interesting_ musical. He’d only recently listened to it all the way through. Twice. At present, he lacked sufficient context for full comprehension of the work. He was still waiting on tickets, but he had the utmost faith in Mr. Chernow).

To hear that someone as young as Jessica found interest in the political movements of a long-gone age brought him a curious sense of satisfaction.

“Now, I know you said you have been interested in history from a young age,” he said, “but how did you find yourself interested in the Revolution? I can’t imagine such complex politics are of interest to the young.”

“Well, I’ve always gotten bored easily in school,” Jessica admitted. “Every parent-teacher conference, all my teachers would tell my aunt that I never paid attention – even though I did the work and aced all the tests, by the way. Just because school’s boring doesn’t mean I don’t like learning.” She scowled, clearly recalling a complaint of long standing. “Anyway, we always learn the same stuff in history class in middle school, so when 8th grade rolled around I didn’t pay much attention the first few chapters. Like, I already knew about the Conquistadors and Dutch traders and stuff. But then my teacher brought up the Hamilton-Burr duel.”

Caught off-guard, Alexander had to shove his free hand into his pocket to stop himself from pressing it to his side. As glad as he was that his history was known and taught, he could have done without the frequent reminders of his death at the hands of someone he at one time considered a friend.

Jessica continued on, unaware of his distress. “Like, all she mentioned was that it happened, and that Hamilton died. Nothing about _why_ it happened, or what Burr and Hamilton’s relationship was like up until that point or _anything_. So after class, I went up to her and asked what had led to the duel. She seemed really surprised, probably because I’d never said one word to her, but just told me it was a long story. We had recess and lunch after history that year, and I always brought my lunch, so I just sat down and told her I had time.”

Jessica, it seemed, was as verbose as he himself, and shared his tendency to speak in paragraphs. He hid a smile behind the rim of his coffee.

“Anyway, afterwards she suggested I read this huge Hamilton biography –“

“The Chernow?” Alexander interrupted.

“Yeah!” Jessica said, turning to him with a smile. “Have you read it?”

“In fact, I work for Mr. Chernow.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “Holy _shit_ ,” she breathed, oddly reverent. Alexander still was not used to the casual swearing of the 21 st century; he sometimes thought of how Washington might react to it. _He’d be livid_ , Alexander mused.

“Think he’d autograph my book? And-slash-or my Washington biography?” Jessica asked, causing Alexander to snort.

“I’ll ask,” he offered.

“You’re the _best_ ,” she told him. “Anyway, so I read it, even though it took me forever because that book is a freaking _brick_ and I didn’t read too quickly when I was younger. I was hooked, and I immediately started reading everything about the Revolution, especially Hamilton.”

“Why the connection to Hamilton in particular?” Alexander asked, trying to keep a smile off his face. “Is it because he was your point of entry into the subject, so to speak?”

“Sort of,” Jessica said. “It’s weird to explain. I just feel like I owe the guy a lot.”

Alexander blinked, surprised. “Owe him how?”

Jessica sighed, taking a long sip of her drink before answering. “Okay, so, you’re a historian, so you know that sexuality is often a hotly debated subject. So, I read the Hamilton biography around the time I realized I wasn’t straight? And obviously we’ll never know for sure about any of it, because they’re all long dead, but reading about someone who may have even _possibly_ been bisexual like I am meant _so much_ to me at the time. Like, it helped me realize it wasn’t just me? And it helped me feel a lot more comfortable in my skin, and helped me come out to my aunt and uncle and everything.” She huffed a laugh, clearly self-conscious, and scuffed her shoe against the sidewalk. “Without him, I might not have my girlfriend. So, yeah. I owe him.”

Ah, this again. Alexander was quickly growing used to his letters from Laurens being looked at in a light not considered decorous in his lifetime. At first, it had left a sour taste in his mouth; while Alexander had no issue airing his thoughts for all to see, he knew Laurens would never have wanted anyone else to read them. However, his dear Laurens was long gone, for longer than Alexander had been before his miraculous awakening. And nobody could stop historians.

The letters were looked at differently in this age than they had been a hundred years ago, or two hundred. In this modern era, it was not seen as something a man _did_ , but as someone he _was,_ just as he was a Scotsman or a second son. One did not need to make polite excuses for living together, and such couples might even be consecrated by marriage. The fight over the morality of these unions was still heated, but waning. People like Jessica did not have to hide the truth of whom they loved, as he was forced to in his youth.

His attention had wandered so far into these thoughts that he did not realize he’d begun to cross a street -- at least, until he heard a horn blaring and a voice scream “ _Mr. Hamilton!_ ”

The next moment, he felt two strong hands seize his shoulders and shove him forward. He just managed to catch himself before falling on his face, and turned to see Jessica standing in the road. She faced an oncoming car, her hands held out in front of her. Before Alexander could react, the car screeched to a halt, a bare inch from touching her palms.

Miss Mills and Crane came sprinting towards them, eyes wide with terror and shock.

“Is everyone alright?” Miss Mills asked, running over to Jessica. She placed her hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Jessie?”

Before she could answer, the door to the car opened, and a pale-faced man emerged. “Oh my god, is everyone alright? He just walked out, I didn’t – And then she just – Shit, is everyone – ?”

“I’m okay,” Jessica said, though she was betrayed by the way her voice shook. She turned to look at Alexander. “You okay, Alex?”

“Quite,” he responded, voice somewhat steadier than hers. He attempted an apologetic look, and turned to the driver. “My apologies, sir. I was lost in my own thoughts, and was not looking where I was walking. I assure you, though, I am _okay_.” He had been attempting to use more modern vernacular. Odd, that he should remember to do so at such a time. The strangest things occurred to one, in such moments.

“Let’s just…. Let’s just go,” Jessica said, shoving her shaking hands into her pockets, and very nearly running away. The three adults exchanged worried looks and followed her, leaving the bewildered driver behind.

Crane, with his damnably long legs, reached her first. He caught her by the sleeve, and she jerked to a stop. “Are you positive you are well, Miss Jessica? Perhaps you should see a doctor.”

Jessica took a deep breath before turning around, steadying herself visibly. “I’m fine, Mr. Crane,” she insisted, giving him a small smile. “Just a little shaken up. It’s nothi–“

“You called me Mr. Hamilton.”

Miss Mills and Crane fell silent at Alexander’s words, but Alexander did not break eye contact with Jessica. She looked back at him, beseeching, but they continued their silent war until Jessica finally gave way.

“You’re on the ten-dollar bill!” she said. “Plus you’re always at the library! How could I not recognize you? Besides, weird shit happens in Sleepy Hollow all the time! A Founding Father coming back to life would honestly be more normal than usual.”

Miss Mills and Crane exchanged a look.

“Jessie…” Miss Mills said slowly, looking at Jessica as if seeing her in a new light – and, truly, it seemed that she was. “Did you… Did you stop that car?”

“…Maybe?” Jessica answered, in a very small voice.

“Oh lord,” Crane said, running a hand down his face.

“We need to talk, Jessie,” Miss Mills said, still stern.

  
Jessica sighed forlornly. “Yes, ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> **1/9: Finally edited, with much thanks to my co-writers! The biggest changes are the switch in tense (present to past), Jessica's last name, and the editing of language (18th century vernacular continues to be a struggle). In addition, the time line of this has been changed. Originally it took place after Christmas; now it takes place in that 1 and a half period after Hamilton reawakens but before the supernatural nonsense with Anna. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask!**
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> Cry about Hamilton & Sleepy Hollow with me on [tumblr](regina-cordium.tumblr.com)


End file.
